Quite a Spectacle Read Free Page A

new day, yeah?”
    Michael stared at Max’s earnest face and his hopeful smile, the dimple on the left side of his mouth, and the crooked incisor on the right. He looked at the crinkles around Max’s eyes and the wrinkles in the skin on his forehead. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing hold of Max’s hand.
    This was just one blip. A tiny little thing. His stomach was much better now, and he doubted Mr. Stewart would be driving so crazily again. He could do this. He could give Max the Christmas he wanted.
    They left the restroom hand in hand and made their way out to where Max’s parents were waiting for them by the curb. Michael could see the floor mat poking out from the trashcan on the corner of the street. He turned his gaze away and fought down the apology he could feel rising in the back of his throat.
    He had already apologized. Another one wouldn’t fix anything.
    He couldn’t stop the blush, though. He could feel his cheeks heating right up, the warmth suffusing his face. A speck of snow landed on his face, and he could feel it melting, the little drop of water sliding down to his jaw.
    There wasn’t any chitchat, no exchange of pleasantries. Max’s parents got right in the front seats and the two of them in the back. The drive was silent; the faint sound of the radio on some talk station filtered through the car, but Michael wasn’t paying attention.
    He curled up on the back seat, his head in Max’s lap, and closed his eyes. He made sure to kick his shoes off before he put his feet on the seat. Max’s hand burrowed into his hair, alternating between lightly tugging on the strands and scratching his scalp.
    Michael had to keep shifting his body, as it was a tight fit. He was tall and the backseat fairly cramped. His head never left Max’s lap, though.
    Despite the ache in his body from the weird ways he was contorting himself, he felt much better, and the drive passed much more quickly. He waited to sit up ’til after Max’s parents had vacated the car.
    “Are you ready?” asked Max, moving his hand to rest on Michael’s shoulder.
    Was he ready to greet Max’s siblings and other assorted family members? No.
    “Yes,” he said, smiling tightly. “Who all is in?”
    “Just my brother and sister, and my aunt and cousin. Everybody else is coming tomorrow.”
    Doable. It was all doable, he told himself as he slid from the car after Max. They grabbed their bags from Max’s father, and Michael made sure to thank him as he took his. Mr. Stewart nodded at him and led them inside.
    They had to stop in the entryway to wipe their shoes off and set them aside. Coats went next and were shaken under the doorstep awning to remove any snow that lingered on them. They were hung on pegs in the wall.
    The Stewarts’ house was large and spacious and not at all decorated for Christmas. As they made their way into the family room, Michael could see there wasn’t even a tree.
    Mrs. Stewart must have seen the question on his face, because she said, “We were waiting for Max to get here. All the children can help decorate. It’ll be like old times.”
    Maybe Michael was paranoid, but it felt like there was an unsaid “before you took him away” tacked on there. He smiled despite that, making a little “ah” sound. Max beamed at his mother though and dropped his bag to hug her. “What a lovely idea,” he said, “We can introduce Michael to all the old family traditions.”
    “Yes, won’t that be interesting?” muttered Max’s father.
    Michael looked the other way as if he was examining the wall. “Are we staying in Max’s old room?” he asked after a moment.
    “Yes,” answered Mr. Stewart. He looked like he was about to say something else, but footsteps thundered down the stairs and suddenly Max was being lifted into the air in a tight hug.
    “Oi!” he shouted, his hands clapping down on his brother’s shoulders. “Put me down, wanker!”
    Michael smirked, watching the two of them tussle like children.